Up
by SneezySoul
Summary: The scientists find him the next day, glowing green splattered all around his cage. Green. Green is comforting. It means comfort. It wasn't as good as blue or orange will ever be, but it makes him feel better.
1. Prologue

**A fanfiction that came from a 3AM thought and really weird planning techniques! Oh yeah! Let's procrastinate with MORE FICS hehehe.**

 **(Special thanks to seroswilt for being a beta on the first chapters.)**

* * *

 **Day 1.0.0**

 **J, 15, 12**

* * *

His life ended a little while ago.

He couldn't remember many details about it, nor could he recall how he ended up here. It just happened.

Not that it was good in any way. The scientists - he didn't know what else to call them - had come and gone in this room for what felt like forever, now. They'd bring with them weapons and puzzles, and ask him to do things he never felt like doing.

Today it was an odd puzzle of sort: A box, with many wires and buttons covering it, with a little clock that counted down.

It was a bomb, they said. His job was to deactivate it.

If he failed, so what? He was a ghost, they had told him, and could just regenerate himself if it ever does explode. Ghosts don't feel pain.

He was weary about that, though. Failing to complete tasks like this always ended up hurting him. No matter how small the task seemed to be.

Now, so far he's only been hurt by three puzzles. One, his most recently failed puzzle, involved figuring out which treat had been poisoned. He was to eat the one he thought was safe.

Ghosts don't eat, the scientists said, so it was merely a test of skill. The fact he actually ate it meant nothing to them. Getting sick over it only gave the scientists more of a reason to continue such puzzles.

He wasn't so sure about the idea of ghosts not eating. The sight of the treats made his stomach twist up in knots, and made his mouth water. He'd been so eager to eat something at the time, that the thought of one being poisoned barely stopped his decision; he'd chose the biggest treat.

Thinking about it, now, he was pretty sure he was so hungry he barely felt hunger pangs anymore.

The box at the top corner of his room buzzes for a second, "hurry up," it says impatiently.

1:45, the numbers flashed.

He nervously picks a random wire and snaps it off, hoping that it would stop the clock.

Foolish of him, to hope.

1:28, the numbers flashed. Like a taunt. The bomb was taunting him, toying with him.

He holds his breath, cutting yet another wire, fingers shaking. He presses down a little button as well, cursing under his breath when the countdown speeds up.

0:97.

Another wire.

0:89.

A tear rolls down his cheek, a chill goes down his spine.

He didn't want to hurt.

He didn't want to feel pain.

0:68.

He rips out the remaining wires with haste, and goes to push another button, only to accidentally prick himself on loose wiring.

He's scared, he's _scared_. Ghost don't _get_ _scared_.

 _Why is he scared?_

0:35.

He stops.

This is it.

All the wires are disconnected.

All of them.

Why wasn't it stopping? _Why_? Was this a trick? Did they _want_ to see him fail?

He sits there, on his knees.

He places the little box gently down.

0:14.

He closes his eyes.

He keeps his chin up.

He wants to go home.

0:03.

 _He wants to go home._

* * *

 **x**


	2. Chapter 1

**Three months prior:**

* * *

His parents finally finished the portal - it was to be a door to the 'ghost zone'. They spent their entire lives working up to this point, they spent years just working on this hunk of scrap, not to mention the time they prepared for said hunk of scrap by drilling a giant hole in the wall.

It was weird how his parents were so adamant about ghosts. They've never seen a ghost in their entire lives, yet they made weapons, vials, everything. Their research up to this point was nothing but them assuming how things were.

He was happy for them, though. This was the happiest he'd seen them in years.

It must have been contagious, too, because his friends were also waiting eagerly beside him, excited for the moment they would turn the machine on.

Sam held her camera in her hands, waiting for the moment it'd be turned on - she ran a blog dedicated to this kind of freaky stuff, so she'd instantly called dibs when it came to first photo taken.

Tucker, on the other hand, was tapping his foot, impatient. He'd been interested in the portal and the making of it for a while now, so seeing him so impatient was to be expected.

Jazz had gone upstairs, saying that she'd see it once they turned it on - she had some extra homework to do that night. While she was happy about it, she didn't seem too eager to see it, much like with every other invention their parents made.

She didn't believe in ghosts, after all, so a lot of their inventions were useless to her. Once, Jazz had tried getting them into a program for inventing touch screens and other technologies, but that backfired quickly. Danny isn't too sure, but he thinks his parents are still paying the repair bills from that.

He takes a seat on the counter next to Tucker, swinging his legs a bit in anticipation. His father'd just ended his little speech about the portal - his father always believed that every mind-blowing discovery needed a good speech. Danny couldn't agree more.

His parents plug it in, then, beaming in joy as their creation sparked to life -

\- Only to adopt a sad look when it shuts off not but two seconds later.

"What?" Maddie gasps, "how could this - what is this -?"

"No!" Jack bellows, tearing out the plug and plugging it in again, only to meet the same result, "we checked everything! _Everything_! - How could this be, Maddie?"

Maddie pulls up her safety goggles, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing, "unbelievable. We checked everything."

"Maybe the plug isn't working?" Tucker quietly suggests, looking disappointed.

"No, dear," Maddie replies, "it's brand new - we checked the plugs, the wires, everything. It should have worked."

Jack stands up after the fifth try of plugging it in, his shoulders slumped, "was this all for nothing?" he asks.

Maddie walks over to him, wrapping an arm around him. She didn't say much of anything as she turns the man to the stairs, walking him out of the lab, talking in a low voice to the man as they went.

"Awe," Same says, putting her camera down, "I thought it would work."

"Yeah." Danny nods, taking a stand. He walks closer to the portal, eyeballing the plug for a moment - it looks fine, as far as he knew.

Then again he wasn't much of a genius - he was probably the only Fenton without smarts.

Turning back to his friends, he notices the look Sam's giving him.

Sam grins, "can you pose for me? - I'm still going to take as many pictures as I can!" She holds up her camera, wiggling it for emphasis.

Danny shrugs, "Fine." he turns back to the portal.

Just before he can reach it Sam stops him, "wait! - Can you get one of those suits too? - It'd make it so much better."

Tucker chuckles, moving over to her side, "you're really going to make him wear one of those things?"

"He doesn't _have_ to." Sam says, tapping her fingers against her camera.

"Don't worry about it," Danny rolls his eyes, going over to a small set of lockers and pulling a white suit out of it, "it's not like I'm going to go in there or anything."

He carries it with him to the front of the portal, letting Sam snap a few pictures.

Despite the invention not working and the mild disappointment, Danny couldn't wait to go back upstairs and play video games all day with his friends. It was a Sunday, after all.

Plus the portal weirded him out. He wasnt a huge believer in ghosts himself, but he also did believe _somewhat_. It left him wondering what would have happened if it worked.

Well, big woop, it worked. For all of three seconds or so.

Sam takes one more picture before he sighs, "okay," he says, "I showed you the portal, can we go now? - My parents could be back here any minute. Besides, it doesnt work anyway."

Looking inside the portal, there seemed to be wires upon wires strewn about. What they were for he'd never know, nor was he ever willing to allow his father to tell him.

Then again it was a bit too late for that. For all he knew his parents might as well scrap this idea.

Well...not scrap it, but alter it enough that it would be pointless to figure out which wire was for what purpose.

Same lowers her camera down, walking over to the portal, followed along by Tucker,"come on, Danny. A _Ghost Zone_? Aren't you curious? You gotta check it out."

Danny shrugs, offering the portal a curious glance once more, "You know what? You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome, super-cool things exist on the other side of that Portal?"

After he says this, he quickly goes to put on the suit - his suits were colored differently from his family's normal blue and orange suits. Black boots, black gloves, black belt, and white everything else.

He knew perfectly why, too: When he was a toddler they had bought him the standard 'Fenton' blue, but pretty much lost him in the lab the day they let him try a suit on - they said he liked it enough, since, hey, he was a toddler, but sadly he liked the lab enough, too.

Enough that he had been sitting in a corner - in plain sight - for up to an hour watching the wall.

Here's where it gets even better: His parents had looked everywhere a toddler might run off to. Under tables, in boxes, inside cabinets. They had been so panicked at the time they even considered calling the police.

Once they realized that their son was _in the corner_ they pretty much mass-ordered black and white suits from then on.

Also he may or may have not have spurred them on their ghost hunting quest by staring at a wall for so long. He wasn't sure if he just moved there after a while, or if he were there the entire hour, but his parents believed that what he was staring at was a ghost.

But ever since that day they just never bothered to buy him any of the colored suits - whether it was laziness, or just paranoia was unknown to him.

He liked the white suits anyway. He liked being different.

Sadly, his father's face is on the front of it.

Sam bites her lip, "hang on," she says, going up to him and tearing the logo off, "you can't go walking around with that on your chest."

She steps back from him, walking a distance away, just so she could get a good shot. Tucker follows along, oddly quiet. He was probably waiting to go back upstairs, too. Doom 3 can't play itself, you know?

He turns to the portal nervously. It was probably dangerous, but it hadn't really turned on so far, so he figured it was safe enough.

He takes a slow, tentative step inside, making sure to step over the largest wires near the entrance. The inside glowed a greenish colour, the same colour of the lights outside of it.

Probably his dad's doing.

He's about a third of the way in when he looks back outside. It's dark in here despite the green lighting. A part of him wanted to go back outside and forget about this - but before he can think too much on it Sam gestures for him to go on.

It's much too dark to see his way inside, and he ends up feeling the wall of it as he walks along - just how far did his parents make this hole? It seemed to go on forever. He couldn't see the end.

Before he can really think about what had happened, something clicks underneath his hand.

There's green - there's _so much green_ -

someone's screaming -

He can't _s e e_ -

He doesn't feel the pain at all. He can't feel anything at all.

In those last moments, all he can think about is how it's over. Everything.

His life goes dark.

 _He's gone_.

* * *

 **x**


	3. Chapter 2

**x**

* * *

He wakes up in a cage big enough for him to crouch low. He's muzzled, his hands tightly bound.

The truck bumps along the road, the drivers up front uncaring. The radio is on low, singing about things in a low enough tune that it was near impossible to grasp the words.

What was his name? Why was he here?

A particularly harsh bump causes him to hit his head harshly against the top of the cage. He growls.

"Shut up back there." One of the drivers say.

'Who are you?' he wanted to ask them, 'why am I here? Who am I?'

Instead all that comes out is garbled, muffled words. The drivers seem not to notice his attempt to speak, though, merely going about the way they were a second ago - the driver absently tapping their fingers against the steering wheel to the beat, and the passenger taking another swig of his drink.

He looks to the bindings on his hands - they're glowing a light blue.

In fact, he's glowing, too. Just not blue. He was glowing a very faint white.

Why was he glowing? Why were the bindings glowing?

He sighs as another bump in the road has him hitting his head against the bars, twisting his arm awkwardly. That was going to bruise.

The rest of the truck was empty save for various things surrounding his cage - things that reminded him of old machinery parts. Maybe it would go to an RV?

...What was an RV? How did he know what machinery was?

His head hurt.

He attempts to lean to the side, taking in the back of the truck with mild curiosity. A lot of the junk back here looked like old gun parts - maybe gun parts, anyway. Some of it was stuff that'd go to a vehicle.

He didn't know what a gun was, but he quickly remembered that a vehicle was something like the truck he was in.

Having remembered that was a relief, at least.

The drivers are bickering about something, now, and he sighs yet again.

Looking up, he catches a glimpse of something weird -

\- It was large, and _scary_. He couldn't help but try to recoil back in fear of it.

But the strange thing didn't so much as twitch. In fact, it seemed like it was sleeping.

It was blue - kind of like the blue glow from the bindings on his hands - and it looked odd. Some large part of him wondered why it wasn't green. _It was supposed to be green_.

It was wrong - why wasn't it green? Why was it blue? Did someone make it angry?

"See the sky, ghost?" One of the drivers - the one from before - said, turning around to look at him with a sneer, "take a nice long look. That's the last time you're ever going to see it."

He looks to the driver, away from the blue monster. He makes a noise in question, shifts a leg in discomfort.

"The sky," the other driver - the one who hasn't spoken until now - clarifies. Her voice was soft compared to her partner, almost soothing, if just a bit sad, "just look up. Keep looking up, okay?"

He didn't know why, but the way she said that made him follow her order without hesitation. He looked up, out of the back window.

He looked up to the sky.

The blue reminded him of comfort - of food on the table, of laughter, of emotions he couldn't name.

It reminded him of late nights playing with friends, having fun.

Of a messy lair; a half-made nest of pillows and blankets ready for him to come and flop himself as hard as he could into it, ready for him to come back and burrow as far down in the pillowy mess as he could.

Of walls covered with stars that shine far into the night, always there, always a comforting sight after a long day.

The sky reminded him of home.

Perhaps, he thinks to himself, as they prepare to load his cage into another truck, the sky _is_ his home.

The fact that it was the first and last time he saw home didn't matter.

The sky is home.

* * *

 **x**


	4. Chapter 3

**Day 1.1.3**

 **F,26,12**

* * *

They never fed him or tried to communicate with him outside of testing. He was to have no contact except for the most essential tasks. There was to be no stimulation, no contact, nothing, unless it was absolutely needed.

Like when they made him go to sleep, when they ushered him to giant tubes filled with strange liquids he was supposed to drink.

Or other things. They did a lot of stuff. He could barely remember it all.

He wasn't sure if it was bad, though. By now he was so used to this that it became a routine of sort.

He wakes up from his daze, they do another test, he goes back to what he was doing.

The dazed state he'd go in was just him daydreaming. He'd daydream about the two drivers - the first humans he'd met - he'd daydream about the kind woman who told him about the sky, he'd daydream anything and everything, almost.

Usually this took place in the far corner. He'd position his back to the door, stare straight at the wall, and start thinking. The scientists didn't mind this much - there was one who'd ask him what he was doing, but it'd been so long since he'd heard the man that he could only guess the voice was his imagination.

They liked that his back was to them, though, he would think. Ghosts were dangerous, so they'd said. Ghost were monsters.

Sometimes when he heard he was a monster, he'd glance up, hoping - wishing - to see the blue monster, sky.

Sky was such a weird monster. How far did it go? Did it see him leave? Did it send him here?

Did it miss him?

He wasn't sure about it, but he sometimes missed the sky.

His stomach twists, sending pain through him. He curls tighter around himself, forcing himself to center his attention on the wall - the wall did nothing, sure, but he could pretend it was entertaining, if only to stop the weird pain.

The pain started about three days ago, and hasn't left since. It's dull now, though, but it flares up enough that it's impossible to ignore.

He doesn't know why, either. Did the scientists do something to him? Was this a test, too?

The pain subsides marginally. It's like a very, very dull pain. Like you just lowered the volume enough that it was a whisper.

It was still there, though.

He wishes it'd stop.

Looking around, now, he forces his brain to retake everything in the room.

The room wasn't so much a room as a cage. There was one wall that was just a giant mirror, while the other walls were brick. There was a metal box in the corner opposite where he sat, that woud speak to him when he was doing something bad, or when it wanted him to do something.

If he didn't do as it said, the scientists would come in with these strange sticks -

...They hurt a lot. They scared him a lot more than they hurt him, though.

On the good side of things, he could sometimes hear the scientists talk through the walls. He suspected that the corner he sat in was thinner than the rest, allowing him that much.

They'd talk about things he wish he knew about - like parties, breakfast, and so, so much more he couldn't wrap his head around. Sometimes he'd remember what they spoke of, but he could never quite place it.

Not anymore, anyway.

He used to be able to regain his memory. He remembered certain colors that made him feel safe - blue, Orange, green - and he remembered certain little things that he knew were bad - blood, for one of them. That was the most recurring memory, and he held it close.

Blood was bad, after all.

He shifts around, glancing to the mirror, to himself.

You'd think that ghosts wouldn't be able to see themselves in mirrors, but so far he can see himself just fine.

He looked like a mess. His white hair was messy, there's a few large splotches of glowing green scattered around his suit, and his eyes looked...dead.

Deader than dead. They didn't glow anymore. They _used to glow_.

Now his eyes are nothing but a dull grey.

They used to be green.

The scientists find him the next day, glowing green splattered all around his cage.

Green.

Green is comforting. It means _comfort_.

It wasn't as good as blue or orange will ever be, but it makes him feel better.

They drag him out with little resistance, placing a muzzle on his face and shoving him in a small cage.

It was a holding cage, of course. The same cage he came here in.

If he's still bleeding green the scientists don't take note of it until far, far into the night, once they'd 'decontaminated' his cage.

From the sounds of their voices - urgent and angry, some scared - he recognizes that, oh, this green stuff was actually _blood_?

How come the blood he remembered _was red_?

They were angry at him, but they didn't hurt him this time.

They gave him a 'bracelet'. They said it would help him get better. It glowed a soft blue, and had green beads, each shaped like a 'cat'.

His room was also changed - they now put him in a smaller room, one with enough room to stand up and walk about three steps or so. They told him he was dangerous to himself, that it was for his own good, and he was just a ghost, _how could he do this_? - No other ghosts did this.

Taking a look around the new, smaller room, he frowns. This one had bars instead of a glass wall. The little speaker box was sitting outside the opposite of his cage - which, now it seemed even more of a cage, much to his amusement.

He was happy from this, though. He didn't like the old room much. He'll miss the old corner, but every room and every cage had corners, right? He'd live with it.

Plus, the bracelet was fun, especially with how unique it was. He'd never obtained anything like it so far, and he found himself trailing fingers over the beads in awe.

He had no idea what a cat was, but small snippets would come to him in remembrance - cute, fluffy, tiny - and he finds he loves cats. Because cats were small, and fluffy, and _nice_.

Like some dogs.

Whatever dogs were.

The cat bracelet also glowed blue. It was bright enough that, once the lights were turned low for the night, it would light up the corner he'd sit in.

He also named the human that gave him it, too - his name was fluffy, mostly taken from his mustache, which, now that the ghost _really_ thought about it, looked very fluffy.

From what the ghost could guess, the human was a security guard. He made sure things were secure. He wasn't allowed to do anything with the ghosts, but they let him give _this_ ghost the glowing bracelet.

The ghost couldn't be more happier. He tried showing this to fluffy, but he wasn't entirely sure if the man got the message. The guard had given his hair a quick ruffle, wished him luck, and then walked away.

It was brief, but it was _good_.

If he ended up craving that sort of attention from then on, who could blame him?

If he refused to take off his bracelet, who could stop him?

Laying in the corner, he smiles to himself, happy.

They spoke of someone buying something.

Some man - a man with money and power - had gone out of his way to try and buy the building from them.

They said this was the 'main facility', and that buying this would mean that the scientists here would have to go home. The man trying to buy the facility wanted to be rid of the scientists, as ' _ghosts aren't real, criminals are_ '.

The ghost felt real, but he could see the human's point - criminals were bad, and from what he heard, this man wanted a building to hold them in, so they won't hurt people.

What a nice man.


	5. Chapter 4

**Day 2.1.5**

 **M,3,12**

* * *

The last experiment, they did something that made it hurt to move.

His chest - his chest was still bleeding, even hours after he'd woke up.

They said he was fading, dying. He'll be dead in less time it takes them to clean their projects out.

The man had finally bought the place, from what he'd heard. The building was to be used for holding criminals, and helping the insane. The scientists have been cleaning up for longer than he's been awake.

The green dripping from his chest spoke comfort, but the pain that'd attack him whenever he moved screamed otherwise.

He didn't know what dying really was, and he didn't know what fading meant, but he did get to see the human, fluffy, today.

The man had a frown on his face that time. He didn't say much of anything, just crouched down and stared at him for a few minutes, before reaching out to pat him on the head. The ghost still wore his muzzle, of course, and couldn't move all too fast, so the other humans allowed the contact.

The man stayed with him for a while, wished him goodbye, called him 'good ghost' several times, and left. He seemed sad, and the ghost had to wonder why.

The other scientists had been chattering away while they decontaminated the place. One of the new scientists had asked what they had planned for the ghost in the cage.

They said they couldn't sell a dying ghost. The ghost, even if not badly injured, would sell for much, much less as it was 'less lively' than the others. It was best to leave the ghost to waste away. Once the new employees moved in, they could deal with the aftermath.

'Kind of like selling an old junker', one of the scientists had said, voice gruff with age, 'only the best cars get sold, and even then, price matters.'

The ghost didn't know why, but it felt sad about that. Were they leaving him here? Where were they going to all go? Why would they leave him? - They experimented on him and everything, so wouldn't it be a waste to leave him like this?

The jostling of his cage snaps him painfully back to reality.

Looking up, there's two men, each with gloves and masks on. They lift the cage onto a flat board that had wheels.

One of them then started pushing the cage down one of the hallways.

The ghost didn't like how silent and detached the man was, but didn't bother making a move.

The man pushes them into a small metal room. The doors close behind him of their own accord. The man pushes a button out of the many beside said doors and the room moves around as if alive.

The ghost would have freaked a bit more about that, if it weren't for the haphazard stitches keeping himself together, and the pain that came from being moved.

He made a noise of question, turning himself carefully to face the man.

The scientist gives him only a glance, "Elevator." he mumbles.

Oh. The room was an elevator. The ghost has heard about those, sometimes. They go up and down floors, right? - Whatever that meant.

The cage felt cramped, and was small enough that he couldn't properly lay down - he was leaning against the bars, which, thankfully, weren't going to hurt him.

Maybe fading meant something important? So far, other than the time he was brought here, every cage like this had something wrong with the bars. He couldn't phase through them, and they hurt whenever he pushed against them, like being slapped on the wrist with a ruler.

How he knew what being slapped by a ruler felt like, he had no idea. Still, for the cage not to have something like that made him feel just a bit better.

The scientist barely spared him another look once the doors opened, instead pushing the cage into a darker hallway.

The hallway was lined with cells, each one open and cleaned out so far. Instead of being white, like most of the other rooms and places the ghost had seen, this place was more of a tan color.

The word 'basement' crossed his mind after seeing some gray brick walls in some of the passing cells, and so that's what he dubbed this place. A basement.

When he tried to place what a basement was, all he could think of was down, and the color green.

His memory was confusing.

The cage is pushed into a cell near another hallway. The ghost looks up to the scientist, who walks out of the cell and closes the cell door.

The scientist remained ignorant to the ghost's questioning stare as he locks the cell, and walks away.

The ghost would be happy to be in the cell...

You know...if he wasn't still inside of a cage?

What was up with that? - They never left him in the smaller cage! Ever! Not while inside an even bigger cage!

He struggles to sit up, grasping a hand to his chest to lighten the pain that came with the movement.

It's dark in the basement, the lights dimmed down to a permanent night. It was also quiet, nothing but the fading sound of the scientist's footsteps reaching his ears.

In one word, it was lonely. It was cold, lonely, and it finally hit him for real this time that, hey, they were _leaving_ him. They were going to go away, and he would never see the scientists again. He was going to sit here, unknowing of where he'd go, unknowing of where they'd gone.

He was alone, now.

Fat tears run down his cheeks at the thought - the scientists couldn't just leave him! They were nice people!

Weren't they?

He makes a low noise, muffled by the muzzle.

He didn't want to be alone. He couldn't stand not hearing someone, anyone.

The footsteps are gone by this point, and he finds himself hating it. He just got here, sure, but the knowledge that they're just going to leave him here like this doesn't sit well with him.

His stomach twists with something other than hunger for once. He dreaded the silence, the dark, and just the very idea of being alone.

He wanted fluffy to come back, to push his cage back to where he belonged, to tell him he was okay. He wanted the scientist to come back out of the elevator and at least let him out.

He whimpers, shrinking into himself as the lights dim even further. Now the basement had an even lonelier feel, and the ghost knew that him being left behind was what they'd intended, no doubt about it.

It made him feel even worse.

The only sound in the basement was of his own doing.

The glowing green dripping from his chest couldn't even compare to knowing he was now alone.

How long he'd be alone was unknown to him.

Even a moment felt like forever, after all.

* * *

A long while after, the lights were turned off.

If someone hears his panicked, muffled shouts, they ignore it.

He's a dying ghost, after all.


	6. Chapter 5

**Day 3.6.0**

 **0,0,00**

* * *

He completely lost track of time. There was no dimming and brightening of lights to tell him when it was morning or night, there where no humans around, yawning over their fifth cup of coffee, there was no light conversations being held...

Nothing.

His chest was okay enough by now. On the outside, anyway. On the inside, his chest felt tight and achy whenever he thought about the scientists, the humans, and just noise and light in general.

His bracelet was still glowing, though, and even though he also glowed just a bit, the bracelet was much brighter than him, and blue. It was the only comfort he had.

He wonders how the scientists are doing, if they made another main building, or if they just sold off all their stuff and called it quits.

Which, by the way, he finally remembered what 'sold' and 'selling' meant. Not that it matters now, but it was still a thing. It meant to trade for something of higher value, right? He still couldn't figure it out much, but he did get the idea of it.

Sure, this was the main building - _was_ \- but the scientists could have easily moved somewhere else. They could also have more ghosts, and needed to get a bigger building anyway.

The ghost didn't know. Thinking about the humans he knew hurt.

All this time he'd been alone, lost in thought. He'd imagine little scenarios in his head, he'd clutch his bracelet when he felt tired enough to fall asleep, he'd just _live_.

The bars wouldn't budge when he tried to phase himself out of them, and his back hurt from all the failed attempts at comfort. He was sure that, should he ever get out of this small cage, his legs would fail to cooperate. He could turn them into a tail and fly, of course, but it's been so long since he'd last done so, he wasn't sure he could do it again.

It's been so long, but sometimes he'd glance out of the cell, hoping beyond hope that someone, anyone was around.

He missed Fluffy the most, though. The man was the only one who'd bothered to even talk to him for longer than a second. The man was a good man.

He hopes the man was okay.

He clutches the bracelet to his chest, rubbing the beads into his wrist, if only for something to do.

* * *

It's been forever, now. He's angry, he's cold, and he just wants to sleep and never, ever wake up.

He wants his dreams to take him away from here. Far, far away. He wants things to be _okay_.

He finds himself tossing and turning in his little cramped space more often. His bones ache, his muscles ache, _he_ aches. He feels suffocated, like the walls were slowly closing in and it was all he could do to toss and turn some more, eyeballing where the walls were, as if only his gaze could keep them at bay.

He starts to hear random noises - footsteps, something being moved, someone talking.

It's so, so faint, though, so he blames it on the walls, on the darkness.

Heck, for all he knew, he could be dreaming it all up. This right now? He could be sleeping, and he wouldnt know. How would he know?

His bracelet had lost its glow over time, and was now reduced to nothing. He liked to imagine it still glowed, though, and that the dark wasn't there. He liked to imagine that none of this was real.

Sometimes, when he was far too lost in thought, he'd feel as if someone had touched him - he blamed that on the dark, though. Who else was here? No one, that's who.

He'd accepted that he may be crazy after the first few times he'd ended up screaming at nothing.

His hands ache from trying to claw at the cage, his mouth had long since stopped hurting from the muzzle, now used to it, and he wasn't sure what was up from down sometimes.

The thought of light, of noise, of something other than _this_ , made his stomach feel sour.

* * *

He stopped turning, after a time. He stops moving, he _stops_.

Honestly, what was the point in moving if you knew you would forever be stuck in the first place? _What was the point_?

He had found out that, if he squeezed himself just right, he _could_ lay down on his side.

That's where he'd been for what seemed like a long, long time.


	7. Chapter 6

**(Praise the lord for random name generator.)**

* * *

 **Day 1/29/58, New Gotham asylum institute.**

* * *

Will had little to no idea why he stuck around for this job, other than for the pay.

His job as a janitor may not seem like much, but when you're a janitor in an asylum full of Gotham's most craziest assholes, you'd probably start to wonder if cleaning up an elementary school would be an easier job.

At this point, he could swear up and down that he knew how to get blood and vomit and _anything_ out, stain-free. This was a bit sad, because, hey, when is he ever going to clean blood off the walls when he decides to quit? A useless skill, for him.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't grateful for this job, oh no, he was quite happy with it, aside from all the crazies that gave him a mini heart attack whenever he even stepped a foot in front of their cells.

He, along with several other of the employees here, were hand-picked by the big man, Wayne, himself. Will had no idea how Wayne even knew him, or why he was even considered a good janitor, but he could roll with this. Cleaning up after freaks was so, so much easier than working on the road.

The pay was much better, too.

The true downside here was that sometimes the various therapists around here would coax any passing employee to talk to some nutjob to prove a point, or as an example of normal interaction.

Those days were the worst. He's so glad he managed to trade cell block S with John last week. That was the most craziest block he'd been to, and he'd seen all kinds of crazy this past month.

He glances to his watch once more today.

Oh, man, he couldn't _wait_ for lunch time. The little bakery down the road had the best apple pies. He could practically drool just thinking about them. Plus, there was that one amazing woman behind the counter. He wouldn't mind coming up and asking her -

"Will?"

He snaps out of his thoughts, looking up from where he'd been mopping the floor.

Looking up, there stands one of the other janitors. The janitor from cell block Y, Jeff.

He was quite muscular, in a way that, even with his baggy work shirt, you could easily tell. His scraggly beard was in desperate need of a comb through, and his skin was darker than chocolate. Jeff had been here for about a month longer than Will, having accepted the job offer quickly, instead of dawdling around thinking about it.

"What d'you want?" Will asks, leaning against the mop.

Jeff threw his thumb over his shoulder, "laces said we have to clean the basement. Bat's been dragging in too many people for us to handle."

Bat. Batman. Ugh. Will really wished the 'hero' would just go sleep in a cave for the next five years.

He liked the guy, yes, but honestly? - Gotham is _filled_ with lunatics. The world was filled with them. But no, oh no, batman needed to try and cram as many of them as he could into these facilities. Sometimes he left criminals with barely any evidence of what they'd done.

It just seemed like the most useless system. Who witnessed a drug deal? - Not the criminals, from what they say. Who saw some man abusing his wife? Not the man doing it, and most times, certainly not the wife.

Batman's system was flawed in that. He never stuck around except for the 'villains', and those guys had all kinds of witnesses and victims all trying to keep them locked up for good.

The little guys, though? The little, tiny criminals that he brings in without any evidence for? They go free. Some of them don't, but many of them do, and once they do, they go right back to the same old thing.

Will knows this by heart. He'd been in a gang of those kinds of criminals.

Of course, he went 'clean' from gangs and such after parole, but that still didn't stop him from checking on his buddies from time to time.

And they told him lots of things about batman. Lots.

Call him naive to believe what they say, but that's what he believes so far, and he's not going to change his mind until the 'hero' straightens his act.

"Ick. Why down there?" he asks, putting the mop into the bucket and leaning it against the wall; he'd bring them, but the basement is going to need _way_ more than a little mopping done.

Jeff shrugs, "it's better for some of the more...advanced guys."

"You can just call them what they are; Lunatics." Will scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Jeff was such a _pancake_. He seemed like the kind of guy who had his life handed to him on a silver platter. His namesake, Geary, meant that he was part of one of the richest families in Gotham. Ranging in third place, with Wayne being first.

It led to the question of why the heck the guy was even a janitor, let alone one who worked here of all places, but Will couldn't give a shit about that if he tried. He was here for the money, nothing else.

They both turn down a hallway, walking side-by-side. Jeff frowns, "hey, now, some of these people aren't so bad. You should lighten up a little."

Will has to fight against rolling his eyes as they make their way into one of the main lobbies; down the left-most hallway, there should be a room with all the stuff they'd need, carts for said stuff included.

"Wise words from mister T?" Will finally says, just as they enter said room of supplies.

"Wise words from mister Jeff." Jeff smiles, taking a cart of his own, and turning it to the door, "you should chill. The world's not out to get you."

Will, taking a cart, grumbles less than happy words about Jeff's advice. He follows the man along toward the elevator.

Surprisingly, even though this building can hold a good three hundred or so patients, there was only one elevator leading to the basement floor.

Will wasn't so sure about why, though, but maybe it was for safety reasons. Like if asylum patients in the basement ever got loose. All Barney Fife had to do was sit in front of said elevator and wait the looney out.

But then again, the asylum was probably going to shove the creepiest of fucks in the basement, so perhaps instead of the boys in blue, it'd be batman, sitting all nice and snug.

Did batman sit on the ceiling, like a bat? Probably. Who knows, who cares.

The elevator was pretty old styled compared to the other ones the asylum had gone to replace, this one had the old button system, whereas the new ones all had a sweet new voice-activated system, with all kinds of security measures. Elevator drops too fast? You can make it slower. Have a slightly larger than average guy jumping into it? There's a command to make the elevator larger.

Ah, yes, new technology was really the best.

But, really, Will would rather have an elevator that made him a nice cup of the darkest coffee possible.

Maybe he could complain about it anonymously to Wayne enterprises. Wayne was funding this asylum, after all. Maybe if he included the idea with some more 'better' ideas Wayne would take them all seriously.

Hah. Yeah, right.

The elevator is so _slow_. The facility had many, many floors, yes, but from what he'd heard, the basement was far, far underground, separated from the main building by a ton of dirt and an elevator.

It surely must have been a security procedure or something. Maybe if the Jerkwads put down there have bombs or something.

"-So, uh, come here often?" Jeff starts, breaking Will from his thoughts once again today.

Will, despite having a rather bad day, cracks a smile, "That is the most lamest line in history."

Jeff laughs, "Yeah, but it works, doesn't it?"

Just then, before Will can reply, the doors to the elevator open up, revealing a very, very dark hallway.

Will whistles low, taking a step forward, pushing the cart into the hallway, "It's like some sort of ghost adventure shit."

"Yeah," Jeff agrees, voice lowered in awe. The place is dark, but you can still see enough that you can tell it's going to need a _lot_ more than a scrub down.

Will abandons his cart, moving through the dark, running his hand against the wall as he went, "Where's the cursed light switch? What the heck?"

Jeff has to look hard to see the other man clearly, it being so dark, "This floor seems older. There might be some main room to dim the lights in."

"And where, pray tell, would that be?"

"Probably at the end of the hallway, or in the main security room." Jeff answers, before pushing his cart forward slowly, "some old facilities have several control rooms for security reasons. Just in case one guard was knocked out, the other guards would know about it."

Will hums to that, "like the computer setup?"

Jeff nods, despite it being too dark to really see the action, "except with people. Back then, they were still looking at flip-phones and watching tapes on their VHS."

"Shit," Will drawls out, "that was back in my parent's _childhood_."

"I'm not sure if it's that old, but it may as well be," Jeff says, pulling out his cellphone for a means of light, "look at the walls of these cells, man. The padding is _old_."

The walls of the cells were, in fact, covered by old padding - these cells were most likely used as crazy rooms. Will couldn't be sure what else someone would use them for.

Though some of the tears on the padding looked much, much worse. Like some kind of animal was kept down here.

It certainly left some creepy vibes.

Will takes up Jeff's idea and tugs his own phone out - his was older, one of those smaller touchscreens without the holographic mumbo jumbo. Still, it did its job as a flashlight, lighting up instantly.

They make their way down the hall, leaving their supplies behind.

If something came at them, Will was very, very sure Jeff could outrun him any day. If that happened, Will planned on tripping the man to use as bait. No goolie creeps were going to scare him today, no siree.

Luckily, or unluckily, all the cells they passed were left open, bars rusted over by age and only a few broken off completely.

Jeff sighs, "Man, if I knew we'd be in the dark, I woulda asked laces to turn on the lights."

Side-stepping a cell door that lay on the floor, most likely unhinged by age, Will snorts, "You afraid of ghosts?"

A moment of silence greets him, then, "Maybe."

Will doesn't bother making fun of the guy for it; to be perfectly honest, anyone would be afraid of ghosts. Still, though, it was quit hilarious to imagine a large guy like Jeff running away from something he thought was a ghost. Hah! Wouldn't that be something?

As they walk along, they're greeted with a long, continuous hiss. Will could make a guess and say there was a leak somewhere in the building. They might have to just go ahead and call some other guys in to clear up this place. It seemed way too dangerous for two janitors to clean up.

Still, as they continued down the hall, the hissing would sputter and spit, almost like an animal.

Jeff had subconsciously moved closer to the other man warily, "Cheeto fritz." He says.

"The heck does that mean?" Will asks, voice lowered to a whisper. If that noise was an animal, something told Will that it'd be a hungry animal. This place was secluded, after all. No dog could get out of here by itself.

Though how it'd get in here was another question.

"I don't like cursing." The man answers quietly.

"That's _new_ , coming from a chocolate chip," Will says, putting as much emphasis on the 'new' as he could.

Jeff doesn't take the name too hard, though, merely elbowing him in the side, "Chocolate chip? That's one I haven't heard before -"

They both freeze as the noise rises up in volume. It sounded oddly muffled, like some kind of dog with a muzzle on it's face. It wouldn't be so alarming, and could easily be passed off as pipes, or a machine.

There seemed to be a growling noise now. It reminded Will of his old dogs, and how they'd loved to 'talk' that way for treats.

The first thing Will does is stop moving, keeping his stance a certain, hopefully un-intimidating way. Dogs weren't so bad, he knew how to handle them. Angry dogs? Not so much. He might have a chance, though.

Jeff, on the other hand, hunches into himself, wide-eyed, looking for the cause of the growling. It was clear by his stance that he was going to run at the first sign of trouble.

Not a good thing to do when faced with a dog. Not unless you could outrun one.

The growling hitches every so often, but it doesn't move around the room, merely staying in one place. Will is sure that it probably backed itself into a corner in an attempt to get away from the two men, and refused to move.

Jeff, the big idiot, takes a step forward, "Hello?"

Will takes a step back, "Seriously? You're saying hello to an animal?" He whispers harshly.

Jeff keeps taking small steps forward, "Maybe it's just scared."

Will had to resist the urge to groan aloud, "This isn't fucking 'snow dogs', man, this is _reality_."

Jeff ignores the other, instead keeping a slow pace forward. Will is reluctant to follow along, but really, who would protect this dingus if a dog decided to attack anyway? -Plus, if he ran back to the lobby, he might get fired for leaving the other janitor behind to get mauled to death by some rabid dog.

That wouldn't be nice for future employers to see, he thinks.

They both look around for the animal, hoping to find it - once they found it, they could confirm that it was a dog and get the heck out of there to call animal control.

Or, well, that's what Will planned, anyway. He didn't really care if animal control took the animal to the animal form of 'the chair'; as long as it was gone, has would be happy.

The growling, if possible, grows louder with each step forward. Will really wants to grab Jeff by the elbow and drag the man all the way back to the elevator, but something kept him from doing so. Perhaps some stupid human curiosity.

He's probably going to regret this later. He can practically feel his luck slowly dwindling away with each step forward. Like a giant sand hourglass, but with the bottom broken off, letting the sand drain out.

Jeff swings his makeshift flashlight to the right so quick Will jumps a good inch off the floor in fright.

"Holy heck, man, what are you trying to -"

Before he could finish, his words refuse to come out. There, where the flashlight pointed, was the 'animal' they'd been expecting.

Only that 'animal' was a child, who looked no older than thirteen, sitting inside of a cage far too small for him, bottom half of his face covered with a strange old-world lunatic muzzle.

They men are silent, staring at the anomaly.

Jeff dims his flashlight, perhaps subconsciously, to keep the child from being blinded.

"Damn..."


	8. Chapter 7

**AN: Hey! I'm back to writing for this instead of using my pre-made chapters. So that means it could take a while for an update, as I want more pre-made chapters. So this will be updated! But NOT soon!  
**

 **Please don't rush me kthnxbye.**

* * *

 **Day 0.0.0**

 **0.0.00**

* * *

He didn't remember how, or what had happened. Whatever it was, it was okay, though.

The dark had suddenly broke, and there was light everywhere. It was scary. He kept hearing voices, and he thought they were scary as well.

They'd moved him into a little room - it looked so, so much better than the dark. It had some soft, flat thing at one wall that was nice to lie on, some weird thing that released water when he pulled at the handles, and several other oddities he couldn't remember much about.

They gave him food, three times per day, and even gave him very, very delicious treats sometimes. For no reason.

There were no tests. None. These were a different kind of humans, he thinks.

They called him 'kid', 'child', 'small-fry', and many more names. Each one with a small amount of affection, each one meant for him.

Some of the security guards would sometimes stop by and play games with him. Games he'd no idea how to play, like tic-tac-toe, and checkers. He loved checkers.

It wasn't lonely, like how he'd been before.

Heck, he could barely _remember_ before. He did know that his bracelet meant something good, though, and it was supposed to glow.

One of the guards had looked it over, once, and said, 'wow, thats practically antique. must have gotten it from your parents, huh?'

He didn't know what parents were, but he nodded to the guard anyway.

He never had one, constant guard, though. There was always a new one to replace the last guard, and sometimes the new ones didn't spare him even a glance.

Some would tell him little things like 'don't worry, kid, your parents are out there somewhere', or 'chin up, little guy, there's still hope.'

There was indeed still hope, but why would they tell him his parents were out there? Were parents an object he needed? Strange, if so, because if he needed his parents, why couldn't he remember what it was?

Ah well. He doesn't bother asking. All that time being muzzled had harmed his voice to a point where it seemed nearly impossible to speak. Plus, he wasn't too sure how to form the words he'd really want to say, anyway.

So he lets the guards talk about his parents.

Why not? They're good company, after all. He didnt need his parents, whatever that may be.


End file.
